


Ordinary World

by maryjanewatson



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryjanewatson/pseuds/maryjanewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two years between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Captain America: Civil War. What happened to Bucky during this time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: depictions of violence, PTSD.
> 
> солдат = soldier  
> Bună dimineaţa = good morning  
> Mulţumesc = thank you  
> WINTER SOLDIER CĂUTAT PENTRU BOMBARDMENTUL DIN VIENA = winter soldier wanted for vienna bombing
> 
> yes, the title is from the duran duran song. i am old enough to remember when this song was released.

Bucky likes the sunlight.

 

He especially likes the way it slowly creeps into his tiny, battered apartment as the sun rises, a stark difference from the sudden flash of artificial light burning his eyes whenever he was woken up at HYDRA.

 

He’d moved to the place after Washington D.C. It was a long abandoned old safe house in Bucharest that he’d used on a mission sometime in the 70s. It's got musty curtains and yellowed newspapers covering the patio door, and there's not much furniture to speak of, only a ragged chair propped against the counter/stove hybrid, a flimsy fridge leaning against the cupboards, a small aluminum table and a mattress on the floor with one single pillow.

 

Lazily stretching, Bucky reaches to grab one of his many notebooks strewn about the floor, and opens it to an earmarked page.

 

_“...the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”_

 

He’d read this at the museum a few months back, the one with his face blown up big on a wall and words that only half made sense to him.

 

His eyes scan the words he’d written down, more out of habit than anything else. It’s part of his morning ritual by now. After waking up, the first thing he does is pick up one of the notebooks and read them for a few minutes, to ground himself. A reminder that he’s not being kept in Russia anymore, that he’s no longer an asset for _them_.

 

_“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield…”_

 

_Bucky_ … a name he was still trying to get used to. They didn’t let him have one in HYDRA; “ **солдат** ” was the most he was given, the same as all the other winter soldiers.

 

He considered referring to himself by his full name, “James Buchanan Barnes,” but something didn’t fit. Every time he thought of it, his heart would leap inside his chest, and his breath would leave him for a moment.

 

That man he fought in his last mission was the one who told him first, and it made him feel uneasy then, too. Now he can’t think of it without hearing that voice, and he doesn't know if that's good or bad.

 

If he concentrates really hard, he also thinks he can hear a woman calling him, and a flash of red hair dances in front of his eyes for a second. The raspy, intimate voice pleasantly prickles his skin, but it never lingers for too long.

 

His stomach lurches at the could-be memory.

 

Deciding to get up, Bucky heads straight to the bathroom and turns the shower on.

 

* * *

 

 

Walking around the neighborhood as he does every morning, Bucky crosses the street to stop by the grocery store around the corner and pick up some fresh food, as the only thing in his fridge right now is a half-empty gallon of water.

 

The money he was able to steal from what was left of a HYDRA facility at the foot of Mount Logan, at the south border between Canada and Alaska, would be enough to keep him for a couple of years if he were careful, and if there's something Bucky’s always known how to do is be frugal.

 

He appreciates calmness and slowness now. He walks places, and greets people, and smiles at dogs on the streets. It makes him feel normal, not running to fulfill deadlines, or after someone, or from them.

 

Bucky makes a beeline right to his favorite store, a small place run by an elderly man named Vasile.

 

“Bună dimineaţa!” The man greets warmly.

 

“Bună dimineaţa.” Bucky replies agreeably, immediately reaching for the piles of ripe fruit displayed in front of him.

 

The two of them make pleasant small talk about the weather and how the strawberries have been harvesting nicely this season as Bucky picks which ones he wants to buy today.

 

Fruits are his favorite things next to the sunlight. They’re sweet and juicy and there are so many different ones he could never get sick of them.

 

Vasile finishes bagging up the items as Bucky reaches for the money in his jeans pocket, and soon his arms are heavy with groceries that most people wouldn’t have the strength to carry.

 

“Mulţumesc,” Bucky thanks the man and steps out of the store just as new customers make their way into it, and Bucky—even with his hands busy—politely holds the door open for them.

 

_It’s a nice day_ , he thinks to himself on the walk home, and smiles squinting up at the hot sun shining down on him.

 

* * *

 

 

Finishing his breakfast at his beat up, for-one table, Bucky decides to forgo the washing up for the time being, and picks up a notebook he knows he’s been avoiding for some time.

 

He goes to sit on the windowsill where the sun against the glass is making a little rainbow on the floor, and with a deep breath, opens it to the only page that’s filled in.

 

_“I’m with you till the end of the line.”_

 

The words the man— Steve said to him that stirred something in his brain in the middle of their fight. That’d never happened before, God himself couldn’t have stopped the Winter Soldier while on a mission, but somehow Steve did.

 

He read that they had been friends all their lives, but that was decades ago, before _they_ got to him. And while his memories were starting to piece themselves together the longer his brain was left alone, the images were still foggy and jumbled confusedly.

 

Reading the words scribbled over and over again on that one page leaves him feeling too helpless, and angry at himself for being unable to connect to the feelings meant to be behind them, to the feelings he heard in Steve’s voice when he said them.

 

With a sigh, Bucky sets the notebook down, and kicks his mattress out of the way so he can have room to work out.

 

_Maybe that'll clear my head_ , the thinks.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, it’s the rain pelting against his window that wakes Bucky up, and on these days, he thinks red.

 

Not a red of anger (which has always looked grey to him, the color of his arm, cold and merciless), but of warmth and welcoming, almost enough to make him feel like he belongs somewhere.

 

In that place just between being asleep and being awake, he feels a comfortable weight on his chest, and something gently tickling his skin, soft as feathers. No, it’s not feathers. It’s hair. Soft, sunset-red hair.

 

His flesh hand runs through it, and he could swear he hears a sleepy groan, and a murmured, _“James…”_

 

If he breathes in, he can smell her skin, too, a familiar scent that sparks a type of desire deep in his belly that he hasn’t felt in lifetimes.

 

His mind goes to the feel of thighs around his head, squeezing the air from his lungs, and hands tightening in his hair, and just as he’s about to panic, a hoarse voice chants, _“yes, yes, yes…”_ and his lips and tongue feel wet, his body hot and sensitive, and _so right_.

 

But just as his heartbeat races and his hand threatens to slither under the waistband of his underwear, Bucky fully wakes up and the images dissipate, like a thought you forget before you’re even aware you’re thinking it.

 

And so gets up and makes himself a cup of coffee.

 

* * *

 

 

The nights are the hardest.

 

When there’s no sunlight or rain to distract his mind, and his apartment is covered in shadows is when the dreams come.

 

His metal hand squeezing throats and interrupting airflow, bones cracking like dry twigs, triggers pulled with perfect aim, and pleas and cries of pain and fear.

 

And suddenly he’s frozen in place, and there are hands grabbing at him from all sides, living-dead hands, razor sharp and strong, and he bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

 

Bucky screams, but no sound comes out of his mouth, and the pain is getting harder to bear. It’s not like the pain from the machines messing with his brain, or the beatings when he made a mistake in training, no. This is a pain that covers his entire body, every corner and fold, that makes him see white behind his eyes and his brain shut down to even its involuntary functions.

 

It’s like he forgets how to take in air, his heart forgets to keep beating, and he’s drowning in quicksand.

 

He wakes up with a jolt, and the room is still dark; dawn is a couple hours away.

 

With his eyes manically scanning around the room, Bucky tries to breathe deep and slow to stop his heart hammering. It’s something that he learned in the army, one of the only things he remembers from back then.

 

_“If you control your breathing, you can trick your body into thinking there’s no danger, and that can save your life when you’re down in the trenches and have to make life or death decisions.”_

 

Once he’s calmed down enough, he runs a flesh hand over his sweaty hair, and wipes at the moisture there, counting all of the cracks in the wall to his right, to remind himself of where he is.

 

But, as he moves to get up, the sheets feel cold and uncomfortable, sticking to his skin, and he realizes he’s wet the bed again.

 

He’d feel embarrassed if he had any feelings to spare after his nightmare, but he’s so spent that he mechanically moves to the bathroom to clean himself up, discards the dirty sheet in the corner of the room to be dealt with in the morning, and sits by the window again, sliding the glass up so the crisp air can clear his head.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been two years since the fall of HYDRA and SHIELD, and Bucky’s routine has become stale. He’s filled dozens of notebooks with anything that his mind gives him, but there doesn’t seem to be any answers in there, just disconnected moments and heaps of questions.

 

He reads the news, and sometimes sees Steve in them, as well as the redhead he fought in D.C., and the winged man who was with them. Each of them stirs a different feeling inside of him, and he tears the page where a picture of her is printed, and tucks it neatly into one of his notebooks.

 

Now he remembers her the most. She was once just like him, taken and programmed, and they've worked together and against each other before. He remembers shooting her in Odessa, and her smirk as he chased her in D.C.

 

But that's the Widow, that's what they call her. The one that comes to him clear as day is Natalia. He remembers kisses, touches, her voice making promises neither of them could ever hope to keep, and one beacon of light among all of the gloom. Maybe that's why she stands out. She saw him for what he really was, and stayed.

 

Until they were caught, anyway.

 

They took her away kicking and screaming, still completely undressed, and his eyes could barely see through the tears pooling up in them as she disappeared from his sight.

 

To this day he's surprised they weren't both killed for their affair—having an emotional connection with anyone was of the highest ranks of treason, but they were the best at their jobs, perhaps too valuable to discard until better assets were acquired.

 

He wonders how much she was tortured in punishment. If it was anywhere near what he got, she'd have scars to this day.

 

He hopes she doesn't.

 

* * *

 

 

One morning, Bucky wakes up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and takes longer than usual on his daily walk.

 

On the way back, he stops by a stand to buy some fruit, and immediately knows he’s being watched; someone’s gaze burns holes in his head, and his breath shudders. It feels just like it did when he’d be spotted while on a mission, and his first instinct is to run for cover.

 

Instead, it’s the person looking at him that does, and as Bucky approaches the newsstand the man sprinted from, he reads the headline in one of the papers:

 

**WINTER SOLDIER CĂUTAT PENTRU BOMBARDMENTUL DIN VIENA**

 

There's a picture taken from a security camera under it, with someone who looks a lot like him. His stomach sinks and his jaw clenches in fear.

 

Bucky rushes back to his apartment, keeping his head down under his cap.

 

He has a feeling this is going to end in a fight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: sexually explicit
> 
> I couldn't decide between the scene that made it to the fic or this one, so I wanted to post both.

Sometimes, it’s the rain pelting against his window that wakes Bucky up, and on these days, he thinks red.

 

Not a red of anger (which has always looked grey to him, the color of his arm, cold and merciless), but of warmth and welcoming, almost enough to make him feel like he belongs somewhere.

 

In that place just between being asleep and being awake, he feels a comfortable weight on his chest, and something gently tickling his skin, soft as feathers. No, it’s not feathers. It’s hair. Soft, sunset-red hair.

 

His flesh hand runs through it, and he could swear he hears a sleepy groan, and a murmured, _“James…”_

 

If he breathes in, he can smell her skin, too, a familiar scent that sparks a type of desire deep in his belly that he hasn’t felt in lifetimes.

 

His mind goes to the feel of thighs around his head, squeezing the air from his lungs, and hands tightening in his hair, and just as he’s about to panic, a hoarse voice chants, _“yes, yes, yes…”_ and his lips and tongue feel wet, his body hot and sensitive, and _so right_.

 

He shuts his eyes tightly as his heartbeat races, and his hand slowly moves down his body, stopping just short of the band of his underwear.

 

His breathing starts getting labored, and the images get clearer in his mind.

 

_“James… James, I’m so close…” She moans, one of her hands reaching out to grab at something, and Bucky moves his right one from her waist to lace their fingers together._

 

_He’s had his eyes open the whole time, watching her writhe underneath him._

 

_Every time she bucks her hips up he presses down harder onto the mattress to relieve some of the pressure on his cock, and he groans into her._

 

_The vibrations from his voice bring her even closer to the edge, and she’s pulling his hair just on this side of too strong, making his whole skin tingle._

 

Pressing the heel of his hand onto his cock, Bucky lets out a moan, and kicks the covers off of himself.

 

_She comes with a strangled sob, and Bucky rides her through her orgasm until she’s pushing him away and up her body for a kiss. She can taste herself on his mouth, and it sends a shiver down her spine._

 

_Reaching down to guide him inside of her, she drapes her legs around his hips and he slides in easy, his breath catching._

 

Bucky wraps his hand around his cock and strokes fast, not wanting to lose the images flashing in his head.

 

_He rests his forehead on her shoulder and breathes in her scent, picking up a steady rhythm and mindlessly whispering in her ear a string of, “...so fucking beautiful,” and “...feel so good, yeah.”_

 

Pumping faster with his right hand, his left one grabs the edge of the mattress for purchase as he plants his feet down and lifts his hip up along with his movements.

 

_Reaching his right hand between them, Bucky circles her clit and she clenches around him with a surprised moan, and Bucky thrusts faster into her._

 

_“That’s it, come on…” She urges him, nipping at his neck._

 

_His pace falters and before long he comes with a loud groan, his hand momentarily stopping._

 

_She’s running her hands lovingly through his hair as he calms down, and as soon as he does his hand goes back to work, making her come with a giggle that swells his heart._

 

With a whisper of _“Nat…”_ Bucky comes all over his chest, pumping until the last drop is out, and it takes a couple of minutes for him to come down, and it’s only then that he opens his eyes.

 

Moving to the bathroom to clean himself up, he feels the apartment colder than usual, and the rain outside has stopped.


End file.
